The In Between Time
by xxliveforever17xx
Summary: Every great romance starts with an even greater friendship. A look into McSwarek's evolving friendship after Andy and Luke's broken engagement.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone! So I had a sudden bout of inspiration for a multi-chapter story of Andy and Sam's evolving relationship **after** the broken Landy engagement. It would be incredibly weird, and in my opinion, somewhat wrong, if Andy suddenly jumped into Sam's arms after breaking it off with Luke. I feel like the McSwarek relationship needs to evolve in a platonic way (with, of course, the obligatory flirty one-liners) before they can begin a proper romantic relationship. So here's 'The In-Between Time'._

_I hope you all enjoy! As always, please, please review. I live for them. I bleed for them. I truly love reading all of your wonderful comments._

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><p>Andy slowly peeled off her uniform, one piece at a time. Vest, shirt. Boots, pants. Undershirt, underwear. There was no need for modesty, as she was the only one in the locker room. All the other women on day shift were long gone, and the ones on night shift had already headed out a half hour ago.<p>

Wrapping the towel stowed in her locker around her naked body, she headed towards the showers and turned the water as hot as it would go. The scalding liquid stung her bare skin, but she pushed through the momentary physical discomfort because on an entirely different level, between the emotional and psychological, she thought that the hotter the water was, the easier it could wash away the day's events.

It was amazing how life could change in ten hours.

Hour one consisted of getting coffee and a chocolate croissant, Sam allowing her to eat the flaky pastry in the car in a rare moment of conceding to her wishes.

Hour four consisted of both of them griping to each other about the lack of interesting calls. There had been three drunken disturbances and a potential domestic violence call that turned out to be nothing more than the home owners' parrot practicing its yelling routine.

And then in hour six, all hell had broken loose. What had started out as a routine check on the hot spots for trespassing by the homeless led them to discover a half-decayed body of a little girl with her skull smashed in and a rusty pipe covered in dried blood lying on the ground next to her.

The four hours after her and Sam's discovery had been the worst four hours she had ever encountered on the job. Canvassing the entire twenty mile radius, talking to the homeless that lived around there, and even the discovery of the body was nothing compared to notifying the parents, a John and Cindy Kingston, of the brutal death of their beautiful eight year old daughter.

Blinking several times to rid her eyes of the remaining tears, she allowed the water to simply rush over her for a few minutes more before turning the shower off. She struggled into her clothes after a half-ass drying job and pulled her wet hair into a loose bun. Shouldering her duffel bag, she walked out of the locker room, almost missing the figure leaning against the wall next to the door.

"Hey, McNally," Sam said in that soft voice she both loved and hated.

"Sam," she replied, adjusting the bag on her shoulder as she stood in front of him.

"Rough day."

"Yeah."

They stood there for a few moments, just looking at each other as only two people who have been through hell and back can.

"You hungry?" Sam asked. She knew it was an invitation to go out to eat, and while she wanted nothing more than to go home and drink herself into oblivion, she had the sudden urge for company. Particularly Sam's. So she nodded, agreeing to his unspoken proposal. He held out his hand and she handed him her bag, which he shouldered himself.

They walked out in silence, the parking lot almost empty save for his truck and Best's car.

"Frankie's okay?" Sam asked, pulling away from the precinct.

"Frankie's is great. They have killer burgers. And shakes."

"Their shakes are the best. Particular strawberry."

"Strawberry? Would've pegged you as a chocolate guy. You've had chocolate every time we've had shakes."

"I like to shake things up." He looked over at her with a cocky half grin, and despite the massive black cloud of despair hanging over both their heads, she smiled back.

Thirty minutes later they were seated in a booth with a plate of hot fries shared between them.

"It's not that weird McNally. Just try it," Sam urged, waving a fry in her face.

"No. That's just - ew, that's just gross! Dipping French fries in milkshakes seems weird, even for you."

"I'm pulling rank and ordering you to try it."

"Abusing the power of the badge and gun. How very totalitarian of you." She gave a cry of laughter as he smiled that infamous smile of his. "And your using your dimples as leverage. They might work on other girls, but not me."

"I'm offended you think that they just work on girls. You wouldn't believe how many times I've gotten Oliver to do my paperwork."

"Do they work on Jerry also?"

"Don't change the subject, McNally. Just try the damn thing!"

"Okay, okay! Fine, you win." With some trepidation she tasted the seemingly awful combination and was pleasantly rewarded. Sam leaned back in satisfaction at the involuntary look of happy surprise on her face.

"Told you."

"That's really good," she conceded.

"I know. It's way better than tequila to chase away a bad day."

"I'm more of a scotch girl, but even this fry-shake combo beats that."

"I know you're a scotch girl, McNally. Don't you remember last week's drinking game fiasco?"

"Fiasco? You're just bitter that I drank you under the table."

"Let's recap the event, shall we? I drank Epstein under, you drank me under, and Shaw drank you under. So you don't get to gloat."

"Oh, but I do. I took you down. Again."

"Again? Hitting me where it hurts, how very...Peck of you."

"Still blocking the shift from three days ago from your memory?"

"Who knew that riding with her would be worse than riding with you? Freaking trial."

"Hey, when duty calls, duty calls."

"Did Callaghan use that excuse on you when he subpoenaed you?"

"First off, he didn't subpoena me, because that would mean I was an uncooperative witness. And secondly, Callaghan doesn't get to tell me what to do anymore."

"Like he ever did in the first place."

"I'll drink to that." She lifted her tall glass of chocolate milk shake and clinked it against his.

"You settled into your new place okay?"

"Yeah. It's still not even half unpacked, but whatever. It'll get there."

"I heard it took you five months to hang a picture up in your old place."

"It was four."

"You ever need a handyman, you know who to call."

"You talking about Shaw or Best?"

"Funny, McNally. I'm serious though."

"You better be, because I'm half tempted to take you up on your offer."

"I'll bring the scotch." He smiled at her, and the smile she returned faded as the thought of that little girl reached the front of her mind again.

"McNally, don't." Sam's smile also faded as he took in her sudden change in demeanor. "Don't feel guilty. You can't hang on to this or it will eat you alive."

"Like my dad?"

"Like your dad. It's good to grieve, it's good to mourn, to remember. But _not_ to obsess."

She took a deep breath and nodded, knowing he was right, but not wanting him to be. "I know."

"Good. Now, drink up. Whoever gets a brain freeze first doesn't have to pay."

"Like you'd actually let me pay."

"That's true. It's a hypothetical incentive though."

"How about hypothetical manners?"

"Not a chance. My mama raised me too well. The man always pays."

"I think I would've liked your mum."

"Yeah, you would've. She would've like you too."

She watched him dip another fry in his shake. Broken engagements, dead little girls, even the inability to properly unpack - all those things were somehow manageable with a friend. And Sam Swarek was a wonderful friend.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello everyone! Hope you are all having a fabulous summer. Anyways, here's the second chapter for 'The In-Between Time.' It's not as serious as the first chapter, but it's chock-full of McSwarek banter._

_Hope you all enjoy! And pretty please review - I love reading what you all think of my stories! And thanks for all who have reviewed/favorited/alerted. You guys rock!_

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><p>Andy stood in the middle of her living room, surveying the seemingly endless maze that was currently made up of unpacked boxes and haphazardly placed furniture. It looked like an episode of Hoarders, or even worse, her father's place when he had gone through that particularly manic stage of drinking anything with an alcohol content and packing up various objects in the house.<p>

She would have been embarrassed to have company over - hell, even when Dov and Chris had joined her last week in their own variation on the classic drinking game (taking a shot of tequila whenever they unpacked something that she had no practical use for, which was apparently more frequent than she had thought) she had originally been wary of letting them through the door lest they make a subconscious judgment.

But then again, the company she was having over tonight wasn't just any company, it was her own personal handyman. As if beckoned by her thoughts, the sound of knocking resonated through the house.

"Hey," she said, greeting the man outside her door.

"Hey yourself. I brought the scotch," Sam answered, holding up an unopened bottle of the alcohol.

"You remembered. Nice to know there are still some men of their word," she smiled as he walked through the door. She motioned to the black box he was carrying in his other hand. "What, you thought I didn't have a tool box?"

"Do you?"

"No."

"Thought so. I know you too well, McNally, never forget that."

"Is that a veiled threat to never get on your bad side?"

"Nah, you could never get on my bad side. You work your own dimples too well." He flashed her a smile before unceremoniously tripping over a particularly large pile of cardboard boxes.

"You hungry?" she asked, motioning towards the kitchen. Sam raised his eyebrows.

"No, the scotch will do. I highly doubt you have any kitchenware unpacked anyways."

"Yeah, yeah, let's all take shots at the unpacking-challenged McNally, shall we?" she smirked as she rummaged through the mess in the kitchen, reemerging with two glass jam jars. "Are these okay to drink out of?"

He gave a small chuckle as she began pouring the amber liquid into the jars. "Fantastic. This will be a first for me."

They clinked glasses, simultaneously downing the alcohol. "So," he asked, clearing his throat, "what's first?"

"Pictures?"

"Sounds good." He took the first picture she handed him and sized it up. "London?"

"What?"

"London. You're in front of Buckingham Palace in this picture."

She burst out laughing. "My dad made that for me. I wanted desperately to go to England for my ninth birthday, but we couldn't afford it, so my dad took a random picture of me and Photoshopped it so I looked like I was standing in front of Buckingham Palace."

"Why England?"

"I don't know. It seemed like a country for princesses."

"You wanted to be a princess?"

"I did. I think every girl wants to. You know, be the fairest in the land, have lots of beautiful gowns, find the perfect Prince Charming."

"Sarah used to dress up as Cinderella every Halloween."

"Cinderella, huh? I myself was Pocahontas."

"Pocahontas? Interesting. A beautiful Indian princess who risks her life to save the man she loves."

"Are you mocking me?"

"No! No, it just makes sense that you would like the one princess who puts her life on the line for innocence. You're like her, in a way."

"Pocahontas wasn't a cop."

"You just can't take a compliment, can you?" He smiled, letting her know his snark wasn't real.

"For the record though, you're not John Smith."

"Well, of course, McNally, I'm not blond."

"So you _have_ seen it!" It was only after her triumphant cry that he realized he had walked straight into her verbal trap.

"So I watched it one or two times. Disney movies were the only thing Sarah would watch after...you know."

She nodded slowly, watching him as he hammered a nail into the wall, hanging the picture on it.

"How do you do that so fast? It takes me at least five minutes to gauge the position and figure out how to hang it straight."

"Like I've said many, many times before, McNally - don't over think it."

"Yes sir." She saluted smartly.

"Scotch seems to have kicked in. Perhaps you 'drinking me under the table last week', as you so eloquently put it, was a fluke after all."

"Just shut up and hang the damn pictures, Sam," she ordered, wagging her finger at him.

"I like it when you're bossy," he replied with a wink. "You're blushing."

"It's the alcohol." She narrowed her eyes at his noncommittal hum.

"No, it's not," he said with a broad grin, "it's just another thing to file away for future use - 'McNally is easily flustered by sexual innuendo.'"

"You are terrible."

"I'm here hanging your pictures for you, aren't I?"

"Okay, so you're not _too_ terrible. More scotch?" She poured another jarful of the drink for both of them.

"So after pictures, what's next?"

"I'm thinking bedroom. I think it's the most pertinent."

"Your bedroom - how scandalous. Can't wait to see the satin sheets and lace curtains."

"It's not unpacked yet, idiot. And I don't have lace curtains."

"How about satin sheets?"

"I only break them out for special occasions."

"I really hope you're being serious."

"I'm not."

"Damn."


	3. Chapter 3

The Penny was positively teeming with people, a hundred or so bodies squeezed together in the darkly lit bar to drink, eat, and celebrate the twenty-ninth birthday of Andrea McNally. There were the officers of 15th, along with twenty or so more cops from different divisions that she had developed friendships with throughout the course of her current job. There were the dozen or so high school and college buddies whom she had kept in contact with. There were the thirty or so friends that were in no way related to her job or past academia life. There were her family, which consisted of only her father and the three uncles who were obviously trying to see which one could embarrass her the most.

And then there were her five best friends. Traci Nash. Dov Epstein. Chris Diaz. Gail Peck (as much as she hated to admit it).

And Sam Swarek.

She was currently situated at the normal table drinking the wonderfully aged Scotch that Noelle had, for reasons unknown, held on to from her win on retraining day over a year ago. Dov and Chris were regaling her of all the times she had made a fool of herself in the time they had known her, Traci was both aiding them in their story-telling and making sex eyes at Jerry, and Gail was sitting with her usual bored expression.

A loud roar from the bar counter caught all five of the friends' attention, and Andy was greeted with the image of Sam standing in the spot that had been previously occupied by the bartender. Oliver was banging a large metal spoon on an even larger metal pot (where he had gotten such odd pieces of kitchenware she didn't want to know) and yelling, "Speech time! Speech time! Everyone needs to shut up for speech time!"

She locked eyes with Sam, who grinned at her like a Cheshire cat, before motioning for her to stand up, and, as she grudgingly acquiesced, his smile grew even bigger.

"So," he began, once everyone had piped down, "most of you know I am a man of few words," (this was met with groans and wolf whistles from the more seasoned vets of 15th), "but, as I am the partner of the birthday girl, it is my duty to make a speech."

With his eyes still locked on hers, he raised his glass in the air, the rest of the people in the bar following his lead.

"In the two years I've known Andy, I've ridden with her almost every day, and have made some observations that I would like to share. She is a dreadful hooker," (this was again met with groans and wolf whistles, as well as many laughs), "but a wonderful waitress. She is stubborn to a fault, ornery as hell when she doesn't get her coffee, and is a magnet for bullets, knives, and the murderous hands of escaped criminals."

She could feel a blush slowly rising up her neck and blooming on her cheeks, for once thankful for the dim lighting of the bar, and couldn't help but laugh at the wink he sent her way before continuing.

"She cares far too much about her job and the people she protects, but that's what makes her a solid cop. She continually gives me a run for my money every time we compete at the range, and has a hell of a right hook. She is dreadfully indecisive when it comes to picture-hanging, and is even more dreadful when it comes to making something as simple as eggs and toast."

She laughed again as she remembered the second time he had come over to help with her never-ending job of unpacking her new place on a rare day off for both of them, and had failed miserably when trying to fix breakfast, burning the toast so badly that the smoke alarm had gone off.

"But despite her abominable taste in music, there is no other person I'd rather be with every day, no other pair of hands I'd rather put my life in."

His smile was still in place, but his eyes had darkened as he spoke the words, as if to convey how serious he was. He raised his glass higher, tilting it in her direction.

"To Andy McNally - a great partner and an even greater friend. May all your dreams come true."

An eruption of cheers broke out at the end of his speech, everyone gesturing with their various forms of liquor before tipping the alcohol down their throats in homage to her. Pats on the back went to both her and him as he made his way over to the rookie table.

"Like my speech, McNally?" he asked with a cocky grin.

"It was wonderful," she replied, pulling him into a quick hug. "Except for the 'dreams come true' part. That was cheesy, even for you, Mr. Hambulance."

"I meant it," he whispered in her ear, tightening his grip around her before letting go. He motioned to the door of the bar. "Can we go outside for a bit?"

Dov and Chris, already well liquored, started their own rendition of cat calls and wolf whistles at his words.

"Keeps your pants on, gentlemen, I just want to give McNally her present," he smirked.

"Order another round, will you Chris?" she asked, getting up to follow Sam.

"I bet it's a puppy," Dov said excitedly. Chris joined him in chanting, "Puppy! Puppy! Puppy! Puppy!"

She rolled her eyes as Sam guided her out with a hand on the small of her back. "It's not a puppy, is it?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't let a small animal twenty feet from your house. It's a death trap," he said, pulling the keys to his truck out of his pocket.

"Oh, Sam, you're giving me your truck. This is the best present ever," she dead panned, teasingly reaching for the keys in his hand.

"Nice try, McNally. If I don't trust you with a puppy, what makes you think I'll trust you with my truck? You'll just riddle it with bullet holes again." He unlocked the door and reached inside, drawing out a small object wrapped in dark green paper.

He handed it to her with a bit of trepidation. "If you don't like it, you can always take it back."

"Shut up Sam. That's a hell of a way to preface giving a gift." She unwrapped it with relative ease and gave a soft gasp at what fell into her hand.

From a thin chain was a silver lion in the act of tossing it's mane, it's forelegs raised as if poised to jump.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, running her fingers softly over the small trinket before looking up at him. "Oh, Sam."

He shrugged nonchalantly, though pleased with her reaction. "It's a lion, because, you know, you have a - "

"A lion's heart," she finished, smiling. She reached behind her and quickly clasped the necklace around her neck, the lion falling perfectly on her chest. "Thank you, Sam."

He smiled back at her. "Happy Birthday, Andy."

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><p><em>AN: Major bonus points for anyone who knows where the 'Puppy, puppy!' quote is from. Yes, it might be a bit OOC for Dov and Chris, but the chance to work that in was just far too good to pass up._


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello everyone! Sorry it took me so long to update this story (and as for my other 'in-progress' ones, I apologize profusely also) but I've had the worst case of writer's block since I can remember. I had three different scenarios for this chapter, and all of them didn't pan out the way I wanted, so I scrapped them, and even with this scenario I'm not entirely sure about. So reviews would be lovely, please! I love hearing what you all think, it truly makes my day. Hope you all enjoy!_

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><p>The sun shone brightly on the carnival grounds, the slight breeze blowing the door flaps of the multiple tents open, the sounds of delighted screams and laughing children mingling with the smells of popcorn and smoke and various barbequed meats.<p>

It had been a long, long time since Andy had been to the carnival, and fifteen minutes into the operation, she remembered why she absolutely hated it.

"Why would you ever execute a drug deal at a carnival? That's like doing a kidnapping hand off of money and child during a church service," she grumbled, running her hands through her hair, the only good thing about today was being a plainclothes cop so that she could resort to her favorite way of showing annoyance - fiddling with her hair.

"That's a horrible analogy, McNally. Who would ever do a kidnapping hand off in a church?"

"The same people who would do a drug deal at a carnival." Her tone of immense irritation was met with an unsuccessful cover of a laugh from Sam. "Stop laughing at me," she glowered, punching him in the arm.

"Why are you in such a bad mood? It's a beautiful day, you're at the carnival, and you're with me."

"Wow, it only took you fifteen minutes to work in a self praise. I think that's a new record. Well done, Sam."

"Did I forget to get you your coffee today? I'm pretty sure I didn't, because I remember you spilling it in my truck. If anyone should be in a bad mood, it should be me. But, since you look much too pretty in that dress to be frowning, I will acquiesce to your current sulking and offer to buy you cotton candy if it'll make you smile."

"I don't like cotton candy."

"Don't be absurd, McNally. Everyone likes cotton candy."

"I don't. I mean, I've never had it, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like it."

"You've never had cotton candy? What the hell is wrong with you? Besides your inexplicable bad mood, that is."

"I don't like carnivals, alright? They're horrible."

"Why?" His tone of astonishment led her to look up at him, an expression of clear curiosity on his face.

"It's silly."

"I'm sure it is."

She rolled her eyes, his words tugging the corners of her mouth into a smile against her will.

"Last time I went to a carnival, I ended up completely drenched in water with food poisoning and a broken arm."

This time Sam didn't even try to hide his laughter. "What could have possibly happened?"

"My dad promised he wouldn't be able to hit the button on the dunking tub when he sat me down on the seat."

"But he did."

"Yeah. And the hot dogs had been sitting out in the sun for a while before I ate one."

"Of course they were."

"And then I fell off one of the carousel horses."

"That's incredible."

"Incredible isn't exactly the word I would choose to describe it, Sam."

"No, I mean it's incredible that your streak of bad luck goes all the way back to when you were a child. I just thought it had developed as an adult."

Against her will (yet again) she joined in his laughter, because there was just something about Sam's baritone laughter that made her happy. They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, passing Dov and Oliver as they made their rounds also.

"What do you think they're posing as? Father and son or gay couple gone horribly wrong?" Sam asked in a teasing tone after they had passed the bickering men as they fought over who would hold the massive cloud of cotton candy that was currently in Oliver's possession.

"I was just thinking family members, but thank you for putting that awful image in my head."

"You're welcome. You hungry?"

"I'm not touching the food here, Sam."

"I don't think you should hate carnivals because of that one time."

"One time was more than enough to solidify my feelings." She looked at him as she felt, rather than saw, him falter in his steps. "You okay?"

"Come on," he said, stopping in his tracks and gesturing to the booth closest to him.

"What?"

"Come on. I'm going to change your mind about carnivals."

"Sam, we're on the job."

"It doesn't take the two of us to keep an eye out for Damien. You play, I watch." He held out his hand in invitation.

"If Best finds out - "

"I'll take the blame and tell him you were extremely uncooperative with it. Which you are."

"No, Sam, I - "

"Yes, McNally. Come on, it'll be fun. Do it for me."

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Sam?"

"Seriously, McNally."

"If it turns out we're the ones who take down Damien, will you do my paperwork?"

"I'll do your paperwork for a whole week."

"Really?"

"No. Just play the damn balloon-and-dart game, will you?"

And she did. And she won.

"See, McNally? You're a natural! Look, you won a purple bear. How awesome is that?"

"Very awesome."

"Don't be cutesy. Let's go, the water gun game is up next."

"Nothing with water, Sam! _Nothing with water._"

"Skee ball, then."

"Do I have to?"

"As the senior officer in our partnership, I am pulling rank and ordering you to play as many games as it takes to make you like carnivals."

"Senior officer...finally, you acknowledge your age."

"That's two more games tacked on to your quota. Time's ticking, McNally. We have all day."

"We have until two o'clock."

"Which is in half an hour. Come on, McNally. Do it for me. Do it for your partner." He smiled at her.

She laughed. "No, not the dimples, Sam, we've talked about this."

"I'll keep smiling until you agree."

"Okay, okay, I'll do the skee ball."

"And the carousel horses."

"Only if you go too."

"Someone needs to keep an eye out for Damien."

"We'll take turns."

"I don't do horses."

"They're fake horses, and they're painted in bright colors. What's not to like?"

"Exactly. What isn't to like? I think my carnival therapy is paying off quite nicely. Half an hour more and you'll be a fully fledged convert."

And in half an hour, she was. She played the skee ball, and the miniature rifle range (which she broke the record at, something that Sam wouldn't stop beaming about). Damien was spotted before she could make a complete fool of herself on the carousel horses, and two minutes later, Best's voice came through their earpieces with the positive acknowledgment of both Damien and his drug contact in custody, courtesy of Gail and Chris' work with Traci.

All in all, it was a lovely day.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello everyone! Many, many apologies for leaving this story un-updated for so long. I'm a dreadful author. For all of you who have favorited/reviewed/alerted, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You are all fantastic and wonderful. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and as always, please, please let me know what you think!_

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><p>She fired off round after round, aware of only the squeeze of the trigger, the muffled shots heard through her hearing protection, and the exploding paper target in front of her, the lead bullets ripping through the painted-on man giving her a twisted sense of satisfaction she wasn't quite sure she wanted to understand.<p>

The seconds, the minutes, the hours all melted into one, and she wasn't sure how long she had been standing there, gun in hand, shooting the hell out of countless numbers of paper targets.

Again and again she fired, the mindless repetition giving her escape from the memories of the day, but also allowing her alone with the memories of the day.

She only allowed herself seven, eight seconds maximum, while she re-loaded her gun, to ruminate on what had happened in the past ten hours, and then she shoved the thoughts and the images straight to the back of her mind again.

She had slowly become aware of his presence over the last ten minutes, but couldn't bring herself to acknowledge him. If he wanted to stand there, just looking at her, that was fine. She didn't want to talk to anyone, _especially _him.

Ten more minutes passed, and the slow unnerving of him just standing there finally had her messing up a re-loading, and he grabbed that opportunity.

"You're not a bad shot."

She didn't answer him, instead loading her gun correctly this time and firing off all the rounds in the chamber. She went to re-load again.

"Andy."

She saw, rather than heard, him say her name, as his voice was much quieter than his previous sentence, and she was still wearing her hearing protection. She knew that he knew that she knew he was talking to her, but she really didn't give a damn. If he, of all people, tried to talk to her right now, she just might turn her gun on him instead of the target in front of her.

She was half-way through pummeling the white paper when the red emergency light started going off. Instinct and training had her lowering her weapon, flicking on the safety, and taking her ear protection off all before realizing that it had just been a ploy to get her disarmed and hearing again.

"What are you seeing when you shoot the target?"

Sam's question was certainly not what she had expected him to say. She had expected him to berate her, to chastise her, to tell her he was going to ask for a new partner because he couldn't ride with a person with murderous intents.

"Come on, McNally. Talk to me." His voice was so gentle it made her angry.

"Him."

"Jacobsen?"

"Yes."

He nodded slowly four times, his eyes never leaving hers. She unconsciously mimicked his head movements, and he took this as a sign that he could approach, walking - sidling, really, with slow, careful steps - towards her, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

"So you came here with what purpose?" he asked, his voice low, and husky, and she supposed that he was talking in that tone to make her more comfortable. It was the same voice he used on traumatized victims, except different, somehow.

"To...to pull the trigger. This time. To pull the trigger this time." The gun was still in her hand, black and heavy and _unwanted_, yet she was still hesitant to hand it over to him when he motioned her to. He turned it over once, twice, three times, smoothing the barrel with his fingers.

"The thing about this gun is that it's an object with lethal capabilities. We have them, we carry them, and we use them, to protect ourselves, and to defend those who can't protect themselves. Our job, as the police, is to have the discernment when to use them, and when not to. That discernment is what makes us different from a thug with a trigger happy finger. Sometimes we shoot when we don't want to."

"And sometimes we don't shoot when we do want to." Her voice was even softer than his, barely a whisper.

"That's because you have discernment. You have self-control."

"I wanted to shoot him."

"I know."

"I had my finger on that trigger, and I thought to myself that it would be so easy to pull. The world wouldn't miss him. That little boy's parents would want me to. And I knew, I knew that you would have backed me up in the investigation. 'Lethal force was necessary', you would say. You would _swear_ to it. 'My life was in danger. Officer McNally acted accordingly.'"

"You're right. I would have."

"But it would have been a lie."

"Yes. It would have been a lie. But I would have lied if you needed me to. But you don't need me to, because you are a good person."

"I - I'm not though."

"Why didn't you shoot him?"

"Because he was incapacitated. He was in cuffs. It would have been wrong."

He reached out with his free hand and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "See? That's why you're a good person. That's why you're a good cop."

"You're awesome, which makes me awesome," she said, echoing his words said long-ago.

"Exactly." His dimpled expression of happiness made her smile too, despite her current mood, and she blinked several times.

"You really would have backed up my decision?"

"You're not the only one who wanted to shoot him. Although, I would've aimed at his stomach, myself, instead of your head shot. Make for a slower death."

"You are a terrible person," she said, her smile growing bigger at his vengeful words.

"Yes I am. That would not have been a fun thing to confess."

"You're Catholic?"

"No, McNally, it's a figure of speech. Can you imagine me at confession?"

"Why would you have lied for me?"

He sighed, reaching out to tuck the same strand of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear again. "Because you're my partner. And you're my friend."

"Buddy."

"Pal."

"Amigo."

"And to show you what I wonderful friend I am - " he handed her back her gun, and pulled out his own, having concealed it in the back of his jeans, under his shirt, "we're going to have a little friendly competition."

"You just happened to bring your weapon with you?"

"I needed a line of defense if you decided my little speech didn't help."

"It was a really good speech."

"Thanks. I practiced in the mirror before coming here."

"Loser buys at the Penny?"

"Nope. I was thinking more along the lines of dinner."

"You are just dying to check out that new restaurant we drove past today, aren't you?"

"Hey, Oliver took Zoe there, and apparently they have the best steak in the city. And you know how I'm a sucker for a good steak."

"I do know. It's tucked away in my arsenal of ways to get you to do what I want."

"All you need is red lace lingerie, McNally, and I'm yours."

"Shut up and load your gun already."


	6. Chapter 6

_Hi everyone! I'm back. I wish I had some sort of explanation for my disappearance, like a hospital stint or something like that, but the truth is, my muse went on a very long vacation and I wasn't able to reach her. She's back now...I think. I'm not sure._

_Anyways, I sincerely apologize for leaving this story, and my other in-progress ones, incomplete for so long, as well as not writing any new ones. It's been so long that I don't even know if I can still write McSwarek stories, but here's my attempt. Please, let me know how it goes by reviewing! You all are so wonderful and patient. xx_

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><p>Andy, looking around this place, filled with the people she knew to spend more than she made in an entire year in one night (she even saw some high-ranking public officials she only saw on the local news), had absolutely no idea how Sam had been able to get reservations.<p>

"Let's just say that I know the chef extremely well," he said with a wink, answering her unspoken question as he drew out her chair for her.

She gave a short laugh as she sat down. "Ex-girlfriend?"

"No, although I have a feeling _he_ wouldn't mind being called that. We kind of ran in the same circles during my time on the Hill case."

"Really? That's very..._awful_ of you to use blackmail to get us in here."

"It's not awful, McNally, it's called persuasion, just like you _persuaded_ me to let you drive the entire shift today."

"Oh no, I definitely blackmailed you. Persuasion is too nice of a word."

"You're just lucky I still wanted to come out with you tonight."

"One mention of red lace lingerie, Sam, and you were helpless."

He gave a sly smile. "So are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Wearing it." His waggling eyebrows knitted together in an expression of pain as she kicked him under the table.

"I refuse to answer that."

"Well, regardless, you look great."

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "Is Sam Swarek paying me a compliment?"

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for little black dresses, and my partner wears it incredibly well."

"Does she? Tell me more about this partner."

"She's a pain in the ass."

"Classy, Sam." She wrinkled her nose at him before taking a sip from her water. "Wow. Even the water tastes expensive. Regardless of how my partner verbally abuses me, he sure knows how to show a girl a good time."

"I'm glad to finally hear you acknowledge that," he said with a grin, looking over the gold-bordered menu.

"Put away those dimples Sam, the women in this establishment just lost their own red lace lingerie."

"Maybe I'll be able to use them on our waitress, and then she'll be in an excellent, giving, charitable mood when our check comes."

"Just for that, I'm ordering the most expensive thing on this menu."

"Then you better be up for a delicious steak."

"Oh Sam, I'm always up for a delicious steak."

She ended up ordering the chicken, and he, with a brilliant smile at their waitress (that even she had to admit made her melt just a little bit) ordered the steak.

"This is positively sublime, Sam," she gushed.

"Better than Frankie's fries and shakes?"

"Different. That had been a bad day, and fries were the thing I needed. Today was an excellent day, so this is a wonderful end to it."

He gave her an incredulous look. "How was this an excellent day? I was shot at. Multiple times."

"And you're alive. I saved you. I am finally even when it comes to my debt to you in terms of life-saving."

"This was one time, McNally. I've saved you at least five times."

"But my execution was perfect. I took him out without doing any serious damage."

"It was a pretty good shot."

"Exactly. I managed to save your life and not kill someone else. It was an excellent day."

"You, Andy, have a very warped sense of excellent."

"Of course it's warped. I've been riding around with you for two years."

"Nice, that's nice. Insulting the guy who's buying you dinner." He smiled at her, that crinkly smile that, even on her worst days, made her feel alright.

"Thanks for taking me out," she said sincerely. "Really, thanks."

"Hey, I promised you I would last month, and I'm not one to go back on a promise."

"And Oliver does have a very good sense of food," she said, returning to her dinner.

"And wine."

"And wine. It's divine. This seventy-eight Bordeaux is amazing."

"I like to call it my three month paycheck." He laughed along with her, raising his glass in salute. "To partners."

She raised her glass and clinked it against his. "To partners. And extremely expensive wine."

"And extremely expensive wine."

It was over two hours before they finally exited the restaurant. Sam opened the door to his truck, and she smiled at him as she climbed in. It was nice, really, to be treated like a lady, especially by her very handsome partner. Not since Luke had she felt special, taken care of.

This hadn't been a date, although he had paid (and tried very hard to hide his grimace when the check came - the waitress did not fall for his dimples, which he worked overtime). It had been a dinner between friends, and the double shifts she had been pulling several times for the past three weeks (which meant riding with different, often ornery partners) had her appreciating just what a wonderful partner Sam really was.

He started the truck up, the fifteen minutes drive to her house spent in relative, though comfortable, silence.

"Want me to walk you to your door?" He asked, resting his hand on the steering wheel.

She shook her head with a smile. "Thanks, but I'm fine."

He nodded. "Okay."

"Thanks, Sam. I had a wonderful time."

He smiled. "Me too, McNally. You're a pretty fun date."

"You're not such a bad one yourself," she laughed.

"Pick you up tomorrow at six for training before parade?"

"Sounds good. Bring coffee."

"Always, McNally. You're a terror when you don't get it."

On impulse, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, hoping he wouldn't take it the wrong way. "Bye Sam."

"Bye McNally."


End file.
